Return to Normalcy
by corneroffandom
Summary: Severus Snape's take on the battle of Hogwarts
He didn't know why it surprised him, as he lurked through the shadows away from the thrashing tree, each step straining for purchase on the uneven ground. Didn't know why he felt a bitter ache around his chest spreading into his abdomen as he thought about waking up alone, cold with the poison still streaming through his veins. He was an expendable Slytherin, after all. More than that, however, a war was to be waged yet. He had probably not been the first or last to be left laying somewhere in this bloody night.

The emptiness spread further than just blood loss; a vital part of him had left, and he recalled draining his memories out for that recklessly stupid Potter child. As he neared the castle, he could sense something big was happening.

He stuck to the darkness, not willing to risk being seen- dodging death once in an evening was enough for him, thank you- until he heard loud voices coming from the Great Hall. As he dodged around random rubble- _This will take a long time to repair_ \- he peeked in through the doors, one hanging off its hinges and sucked in a deep breath. Somehow, the boy had survived but something was different... he looked more confident, less weighed down.

 _Dumbledore perhaps was a genius after all. Mad, but a genius. His two best bargaining chips, after all, both remained, alive though not without consequence,_ Snape thought with a sneer, fingers resting on his throat, scars already crisscrossing where that cursed Nagini's teeth had embedded themselves.

Speaking of, the black robed man could see the large snake laying prostrate in the midst of the damage, obviously decapitated. He had to smirk a bit at the image, relieved that at least someone had done away with the horrible creature, even though he'd have loved the privilege as his own.

Finally he bothered concentrating on whatever Potter was blathering about, and felt whatever blood was left in his face draining out rapidly.

"Snape wasn't yours," the boy who had annoyed him endlessly for seven years now continued on, not noticing the faces of the many people around him as everyone hung on his every word. "Snape was Dumbledore's, Dumbledore's from the moment you started hunting down my mother. And you never realized it, because you can't understand. You never saw Snape cast a Patronus, did you, Riddle?"

Little pricks of red appeared in Snape's cheeks as he waited for what Potter would say next, though he could tell the brat intended to spill out all of his most privately kept secrets to the room full of people listening in disbelief.

By the time Potter had finished speaking, the Potions master's face was an unnatural red color, his eyes disturbingly wide. The fact that now everyone knew spun around annoyingly in his head, taunting him that he would now be known as the bitter, lovesick man who risked everything for the memory of his dead childhood love.

For most people, it'd have been a story they'd have loved to have told about them, that level of dedication, but it was truly none of their business- none of Potter's, he hadn't spilled his memories out for that foolish boy to tell everyone else.

A snarl on his face, he spun away from the great hall and rushed for the Headmaster's office, hand subconsciously reaching for his throat once more as he rushed to the stairs, muttering Dumbledore's name quickly and coming up short as he eyed the bird waiting serenely for him, its pure power lighting up the room and all of its objects.

"Everything went as planned?" Albus' always overly annoying, patient voice asked, head peeking out from his portrait.

"Yes," he hissed, offering a quick look of thanks at the phoenix who trilled lightly, body burning once more. When the flames died away, the bird was gone. He marched over to the Pensieve and scoffed at the flood of memories still pooling inside of the bowl- obviously the boy was in enough of a hurry that he just left the silvery threads where anyone could see them.

"Harry is fighting Voldemort?"

"Yes." Otherwise ignoring the portrait, Snape began painstakingly collecting the memories and returning them to their rightful place, a grimace on his now pale face. Soon as that was done, he knew what had to be done. One last sneer at the portrait and he was gone, heading back to the battle against Voldemort.

"Good luck, Harry. Severus," the portrait whispered, disappearing once more from its frame.

He arrived in time to see Voldemort fall once and for all- the boy had defeated him, using Expelliarmus, no less. A surge of freedom and vengeful justice swept through Snape's soul, causing him to smile for the first time in ages. The smile slipped off as his arm twinged in pain, growing in strength until finally tapering off into dull throbs. Trembling fingers reached down to tug up on his sleeve, staring down at the pale, unblemished skin that he hadn't seen in what felt like forever. "It's gone, Lily," he murmured in a hushed tone.

When the cheers in the Great Hall died down somewhat, he knew it was time to make his move. With a grace a dead man should never know, he slipped into the gleaming room, wand slipping into his right hand, feeling alive and like home. He watched in sarcastic amusement as everyone slowly turned from their doings to stare, anger and confusion passing across their faces- except for the brat's.

Weasley, Granger, and Potter had all turned an interesting shade of pumice, eyes wide in their exhausted faces.

He sneered, taking it all in, before craftily waving his wand. "Obliviate!"

"I'm not sure what happened, it was a blur," Padma Patil was quoted as saying later. "One minute Harry was talking to He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named, the next Snape was there and He was dead. I think I passed out... Snape showed us pensieve memories of Voldemort's defeat, however. Harry obviously killed him. He was so brave."

Nineteen years later...

Snape stood near a cauldron, gazing across at the new class of students he had acquired this year. By the time the war had ended, Slughorn was comfortable in his position and Severus had more time now for creating potions, returning to his first love.

When McGonnagal floo called him nearly thirteen years later to explain that Slughorn had passed away and Hogwarts would like their Potions master back, he weighed his options but ultimately agreed to help out. One year turned to two, then four, and finally he agreed to make it a permanent commitment, content to be back in the dungeons among his students, children to watch and protect, help mold into adults. Besides, if he didn't, who would? Longbottom?

A sneer warped his lined face as he raised an eyebrow at a familiar looking child. Green eyes, unruly black hair and undeniably excited. Potter, generation three. Albus Sirius, the rumors had it. Made him relieved Fawkes had come when he did, otherwise the boy might be named something ridiculous, such as Albus Severus, seeing how utterly sappy Potter was.

That thought pounding disturbingly through his head, he swooped past his desk and stared at the children, beginning his yearly speech.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking..."

Fin.


End file.
